


Lunch Break

by LuxObscura



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fingerfucking, Naked Female Clothed Male
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxObscura/pseuds/LuxObscura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Greg asks to meet Molly for lunch this isn't exactly what she had in mind, but it'll do.  Oh, will it ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lunch Break

**Author's Note:**

> Dirty little PWP, written to give me a break from the sequel to Once and Then Again, which is absolutely fighting me tooth and nail. As this is just a little brain exercise I opted against a beta in favor of just setting this one free. That said, constructive criticism and SPaG crit welcome.

“Oh God, Greg…  Greg please.  I need—“

Greg delivers a sharp slap to Molly’s exposed flank.  “You need what I give you.  You don’t get to make demands.”  Greg crooks three fingers inside Molly, rubbing against her inner walls.  His right hand is soaking, her wetness running down his hand and onto the gray wool of his trousers.  Molly grinds down against his hand, the rough fabric scratching against the soft skin of her thighs.  Greg’s free hand drifts up over her hips and across her torso.  Molly leans back against his chest.  The cotton of his work shirt is cool and dry, a soothing counterpoint to the hot, sweaty skin of her back.  His hand continues moving up, kneading at her breast before grabbing her nipple and giving it a vicious twist.  The red-hot flash of pain makes Molly jerk forward but she’s pinned in Greg’s lap by his arm and this three fingers working relentlessly inside her, rubbing her where she’s open and sensitive.  Almost too sensitive.  He’s been working her like this for the better part of an hour.  

 

*****

 

When he offers to meet her at Bart’s for lunch Molly assumes they’d be going somewhere to eat.  Instead Greg captures her mouth with a deep, filthy kiss, his hands quickly divesting her of her cardigan and going to work on the buttons of her blouse.  

“Greg, what—“ she pulls back to speak but Greg recaptures her mouth, biting at her lips, keeping her close.  She runs her hands up under his jacket, scratching against the fabric of his shirt while he opens her blouse and reaches around to unhook her bra.  He pulls away long enough to remove both garments, tossing them aside and circling around behind Molly, biting at the soft junction of her shoulder and neck while his clever hands unzip her skirt and push it to the floor.  He mouths along the crest of her shoulder as he works her knickers over her hips and down as far as he can.

“Off,” he growls in her ear, nipping at the lobe.  “Shoes as well.”

“What—?”

“ _Off._ ”  A sharp pinch to her hip has her pushing her knickers to the floor and leaning over to unlace her shoes.  

Behind her there is the sound of a wooden chair being dragged across the floor, a rustle of fabric and a creak as Greg settles himself.  

“Now that’s a lovely sight.  Tell me Mols, are you wet for me yet?”  One finger traces its way down her spine, down the cleft of her arse and in between her legs, twisting to stroke idly at her labia for a moment before parting them and slipping past to rub at the softer skin of her inner lips.  Molly’s fingers fumble on the laces of her second shoe and she whines as she wiggles her hips.  

“Please, Greg, Nielson could come back at any moment.  Someone might _see_.”  Greg is running one finger over her again and again, just light pressure, touching her but not trying to enter her yet.

“Then you had better finish getting undressed and get over here because we’re not done until I say.”  His finger finds her clit and he circles it a few times with gentle pressure.  Molly rocks her hips in rhythm and feels a flash of heat in her groin.  The flash settles into a warm pool of heat, low and liquid and intensifying with every swipe of Greg’s finger.  Just as something interesting really starts to build, Greg’s finger disappears and Molly groans in frustration.

“Shoes,” says Greg.  After another false start Molly finally gets the last shoe off and turns to face Greg, unsure of what to do now.

Greg is…  Oh.  He’s sprawled in the armless wooden chair, knees apart, one hand dangling carelessly into the empty space between his thighs, the other at his mouth, index finger extended and resting just between his lips, tasting her.  The sight is enough, combined with being naked in a chilly room, to make goosebumps break out on her arms, her stomach, her neck.  It _tingles_ but she isn’t cold exactly.  No, cold isn’t even close to the right word.  Her nipples harden, the sudden tightening of skin there sending a spike of sensation straight down to her clit.  Greg’s demeanor is cool but Molly can see the pulse pounding in his throat, just visible at his unbuttoned shirt collar.  He’s already discarded his jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair, and rolled up his shirtsleeves.  His eyes, normally a warm brown, have gone almost all black but for a sliver of color around the pupil.  Greg reaches for her, trailing his hands up her sides, one fingertip leaving a wet trail that cools quickly.  The sensation is a delicious counterpoint to the growing heat of her skin.

“God you are a beauty.  Now that we’re on the same page I’ll tell you what’s going to happen.  You’re going to come for me.  You’re going to writhe and squirm in my lap and you’re absolutely going to soak my trousers you’re going to be so wet and so worked up.  And when I tell you that you may, you’re going to come around my fingers.  And you are not, under any circumstances, to touch yourself.  We clear?”

Greg’s speech, the ravenous look in his eye, his fingers brushing over her breasts, her thighs, her stomach, make Molly’s pulse pound and she can feel it between her legs now.  She feels herself getting wetter, getting impossibly hotter and she _needs_ to be touched, needs to be stroked and spread and teased and opened _right now_ or it’s very possible she’ll go mad.  

“Yes sir.”  Her voice is a whisper, but not her usually meek, breathy exhale.  This one is low and tight and full of need.

“I thought you might say that.”  Greg grabs her hips, spins her and pulls her down on his lap, hooking her knees over his spread thighs.  One hand pulls her back tight against his chest while the other runs up over her cheek, her mouth.  Her lips part and he slides two fingers between her lips.  

“Suck,” he commands, and she does, tongue wrapping around his calloused fingers, tasting soap and salt and _Greg._ She can feel his cock, hard and with a pulse of its own, pressing into the flesh of her bum but Greg seems totally unconcerned with it as he works two fingers inside her mouth.  He pinches at her nipples, scratches at her ribs, digs his fingers into the soft flesh at the insides of her thighs, and when he decides she’s ready he removes his fingers from her mouth and drops his hand down between her legs.  This time she’s sopping wet and ready for him as he delves between her folds and pushes into her.  The invasion is sudden but very welcome and Molly instinctively clenches around him, tipping her head back and rubbing her cheek against the stubble on Greg’s chin.  She rolls her hips in a circle, seeking pressure, seeking to draw him deeper because this is good, oh _God_ is this good but it isn’t enough, isn’t even close to enough and she needs, God, she doesn’t even know what she needs but Greg will.  Greg always knows.

“Please, please Greg I need…  I need more, I need you, I need—“

“Hush,” and he kisses her temple.  “I know.”  He draws his hand back and adds a third finger.  His push back in is slow, maddening, like scratching just where your itch _isn’t_ and Molly whines, high and desperate.  Greg ignores her, her little moans, the motion of her hips, he moves exactly as fast as he wants to and nothing Molly is doing makes him change his pace.  His free hand touches her, sometimes firm, warm and anchoring, sometimes light, teasing, and other times it delivers vicious little pinches and sharp slaps, keeping her off-balance but intimately connected to her body and the way Greg is currently (but pleasurably) torturing it.  

“You’re so beautiful like this, Molly.  I want to hold you on the edge forever.  I want to keep you here, sweaty, moaning, utterly wrecked and completely at my mercy.  You’re so good for me.  I could leave you like this and tell you not to come and you would shake and gasp and ache but you wouldn’t, would you?  Not if I told you not to.  You’d lay in bed at night and remember me, three fingers deep inside you, rubbing you, stretching you and you’d get hot all over again but you wouldn’t even touch yourself, would you?  You know why?”

“Hnn…” Molly manages.  Her head is thrown back and her teeth are biting hard into her lower lip.  Greg has sped up the pace as he’s been speaking and now his fingers are slamming into her with an absolutely vulgar wet, squelching noise and she wants to be good, she very much wants to be good but this is—  This is almost unendurable.  His breath is wet and hot in her ear and pressed against his chest she feels the low rumble of his words as much as she hears it.  He can’t mean to leave her like this, he _can’t._

 _“_ Because you’re desperate for this, desperate for _me_ , and you wouldn’t be able to stand it if you weren’t good for me. But you _are_ good, Molly.  You’re so _fucking_ good.”  He sucks a kiss into the sensitive spot just behind her ear.  Molly feels his thumb now pressing against the swollen nub of her clit and she bites her lip harder, thinking of two-week old Thames bodies in the summer, enucleated eyeballs, anything _anything_ else but her overheated flesh, the feeling that’s building in her stomach and Greg’s lips, his fingers, his clothed body pressed against her nakedness.  She squeezes her eyes shut and tears form at the corners.  

“Christ, Molly.”  Greg’s voice, formerly so sure and steady is starting to rise in pitch, to tremble a little.  

 _Oh please, oh please, soon, Greg…_ Molly’s stomach muscles tremble with the effort of holding back.  

“ _Now_ , Molly, come for me now, beautiful.  Just for me.”

Molly sobs, her chest heaves once, twice, and then her abdominal muscles clench and she clamps down hard on Greg’s fingers, still sliding relentlessly in and out of her.  Greg locks his lips against hers, swallowing every sob, every moan, every whimper as her muscles jerk tight and relax again and again.  The darkness behind her eyes is spotted with colors and all she can hear in her ears and a rushing noise.  Greg’s thumb is still stroking at her clit until finally she wiggles her hips and gives a desperate whine.  Greg stops stroking and slowly, carefully removes his fingers.  The emptiness is uncomfortable but is quickly subsumed by post-orgasmic lassitude.  Molly rest against him, utterly boneless and wrecked.  Her ears and ringing and her face is wet.  Why is her face wet?  _Oh, I’m crying_.  Greg kisses tenderly at her cheeks, kissing the tear tracks away.

At length, Molly opens one eye, then the other.  Greg looks almost as flushed and sweaty as Molly feels.  He looks, Molly thinks, like someone who is utterly, besottedly in love.

“Hi,” she says with the beginnings of a smile.

“All right then?”  He kisses her forehead.

“I think you melted my bones,” she says with all the accusation she can muster.

“Think you can stand?”

“Wait a tick.”  Molly swings her legs at the knees and wiggles her toes.  No pins and needles to be felt.  “Think so, yeah.”  She unhooks one leg and plants a foot on the floor.  Satisfied that it will hold, she brings over the other one and shifts cautiously to standing.  Then she turns to face Greg and immediately starts to giggle.  _I just had the best orgasm of my_ ** _life_** _and he’s the one that looks wrecked._   Greg’s hair is damp with sweat, he has a wet patch on his trousers that is obscene in size and his neglected erection is absolutely straining at the fabric.

“Round two?”  Molly thinks she could at least manage something for him before he goes.

Greg shakes his head and shifts around a little until he can stand.  “Can’t.  Have to get back.  Locked room murder-suicide that Sherlock swears is a double murder.  Sherlock is being brilliantly unbearable as always.”

Molly mock-pouts and then begins gathering and donning her scattered clothes.  “Not that Sherlock won’t absolutely deduce what you’ve done and who you’ve done it with, but that wet patch will make it obvious even to Anderson.”

“Spare trousers in the car, love.  Give me a little credit.”  Greg pulls her in for a warm hug and a quick kiss on the nose.  

“So I probably won’t see you tonight, will I?”

“Afraid not.  That’s why I came by for lunch.”  Greg winks roguishly and Molly wants to strip him naked on the spot.

“You do realise that I’m going to get you for this, right?”  She begins doing up the buttons of her blouse, almost set to rights.

“My dear, I look forward to the day.”

“As well you should,” she grins.  “Text me if you can.”

“Your wish.”  Greg winks at her and exits the morgue whistling.  

Molly sits to put her shoes back on smiles fondly.  She basks in the afterglow for a few more minutes before phoning Nielson and telling him he can return from his extended lunch break.


End file.
